


though lovers be lost, love shall not

by Squashers



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: ITF Advent Calendar 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squashers/pseuds/Squashers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas, and Kieren and Simon are still mourning Amy's death. They manage to have a good Christmas with the Walkers, and Simon realizes that maybe Dylan Thomas' poetry is trying to help him along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	though lovers be lost, love shall not

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the In The Flesh Advent Calendar on Tumblr. The original post with its corresponding fanart "door" by [elemut](http://elemut.tumblr.com/) can be seen [here](http://intheflesh-art.tumblr.com/post/104163734495/advent-calendar-december-2nd).
> 
> The two poems referenced in this piece are both by Dylan Thomas: "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" and "A Process In The Weather Of The Heart".

Simon squints to read the page of his book in the ever-darkening winter light. He started reading when it was bright out, and sees no point in getting up to turn on the lamp until he's practically blind. He was here first, the light has no power over him. If he's going to spend Christmas in Amy's empty bungalow, he has the right to remain unmoved. He has the right to pretend he's somewhere else, read and fall into reading until he can't see the page anymore.

"Simon!" The front door slams, Kieren's heavy boots a welcome thud against the carpet.

"In here." Kieren's footsteps lead him into the bedroom, the fading light casting everything a dullish grey. He turns on the light first with a shake of his head and moves to stand at the side of the bed, staring at Simon where he sits propped up against the wall, a book in his hand.

"Reading again? You nerd." In response to Simon's gentle pat on the space beside him, Kieren flops onto the bed across Simon's outstretched legs. "What're you reading this time?"

"Mmm, Dylan Thomas," The book cover raises, turns so Kieren can see. Simon breathes in, out, in. "'A process in the weather of the heart, turns damp to dry; the golden shot storms into the freezing tomb. A weather in the quarter of the veins turns night to day; blood in their suns lights up the living worm.' It's a poem about life and death. Most of his are."

Kieren is holding himself up on his elbows, peering at Simon's face as he reads. "What's it called?"

"A Process in the Weather of the Heart. I doubt you had to read it in school."

"No, we didn't. I remember 'And death shall have no dominion,' but that's the only one we read. You're pretentious enough to read them all on your own."

Simon's left eyebrow quirks. "Hey, I like poetry, you like Van Gogh. We're all pretentious about something. Anyway, Amy's first epitaph was Dylan Thomas, so don't knock it."

Kieren drops himself back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He's been trying to get into the joyful Christmas spirit the way Amy would've wanted, but it's hard. He always seems to lose everyone he loves twice. Before, he had postcards, and the sound of the train, and he knew she could come back whenever she wanted. Now, all he has is a stone and an inscription, and his drawings of her that flutter about his desk like her petticoats. "I miss her."

Inarticulate silence, then, "Me too."

"It's just," Kieren waves his hands about above his face. "I know she'd want me to be with my family and listening to bad Christmas music and she'd want you to not be moping about here all on your own, but it's hard, you know?"

"I know."

"I mean, just imagine what she'd say about us right now."

Chuckling, Simon puts his book down beside him and leans forward to look at Kieren. "She'd probably call us morons and tell us to stop being sad."

"She'd _probably_ tell us to go on a day trip. She'd probably mean 'date'."

"She would."

Simon stares at the top of Kieren's head, wondering how he could ever feel so blessed and so guilty at the same time. There's an Amy-shaped hole in his heart, right next to the one shaped like his mum. Her name eats at his brain, every utterance reminding him, it's you who brought her back to Roarton, it's you who brought her back to die. If she'd stayed, if he'd chosen someone else... But he knows that he wouldn't have met Kieren otherwise. Amy pushed them together, Amy gave Kieren the hammer to break down his defenses and pull him from his ULA shell. It's Kieren who changed everything for him, Kieren who reminded him that even if he's not human anymore, he's still _human._ It's Kieren who's here now, lashes fanning out across his cheeks as he sprawls across Simon's legs, eyes closed, chest still and solid. 

It's strange to think about, as he watches Kieren's fingers tap against the bedspread, that he's never had a relationship like this before. Nothing relaxed and open like this, nothing like this epiphany of loyalty and light that Kieren has brought to him. Nothing like this comfortable silence around each other, lost in their own thoughts, but glad to be together. He can't remember the last time he had a relationship sober and untainted by woozy heads and crumbling hearts. Kieren is the first.

Simon shifts his legs, dislodging Kieren's position. He hums an apology, but Kieren shrugs and eases himself off the bed, then pauses, standing in front of Simon with the most open expression of affection on his face Simon's seen from anyone in a long time.

"Come home with me."

"What?"

Kieren cocks his head in the direction of his house. "Come home with me. For Christmas."

"Uh." Simon isn't sure what to feel. He feels blank, feels too much to understand how to react. No one has ever asked him something like this before, in either of his lives. No one's ever seen him worth enough of anything to bring him home with them.

"Seriously. What else were you going to do?"

Simon shrugs noncommittally, unable to meet Kieren's eyes. "Just, sit around here, I guess," he mumbles. "Don't have much use for holidays."

"Nope," Kieren puts a hand on Simon's shoulder. "You're coming to Christmas with us. You don't have to wear makeup anymore, you know." He adds as an aside.

"I know. I just--" It's just he hasn't had a pleasant Christmas since he was seventeen. It's just when he left home, every fix was every holiday all sucked up inside a syringe. It's just that as he got older, his holidays got louder, drunker, angrier. He can still remember his last Christmas at home, his last Christmas tree. It makes him feel unclean, like the memories themselves of Christmases arguing with his parents, or Christmas mornings lost in a haze of drugs would bleed out of his head and out of his skin and sully whatever sort of happy celebration Kieren wants with his family.

A kind hand reaches out and combs fingers through his hair. "Mum and Dad would love to have you. They do like you, you know. Anyway, you can't just sit here all by yourself for the holidays. It just isn't right."

Simon sighs. "All right."

"Good," Kieren smirks at him, taking his hand and pulling him up off the bed. "Because I told them before I left that I was gonna bring you back with me."

Sue and Steve welcome him with a warm hug and an awkwardly but equally glad handshake. As they're ushered into the living room, Jem waves from the couch where she's playing on her gameboy with a "Hey, Mr. Badass," in Simon's direction.

"That means she likes you," Kieren stage-whispers as they pass. "Trust me."

"Shut up, Kier." Simon enjoys Kieren's smirk as he pointedly ignores his sister.

Steve rubs his hands together excitedly. "I've got The Snowman and Love, Actually all set up to watch after dinner. You like blu-rays, Simon?"

"Er, sure, yeah."

"Good, good. I've been expanding me collection since we got this new telly. Quality difference is amazing."

"Dad, can you give it a rest with the blu-rays for a second?" Jem calls from the sofa.

"Jem!" Sue scolds her daughter, a dish towel draped over her shoulder as she enters from the kitchen. "Anyway, dinner's about on. Save that game of yours and wash up."

"Yes, Mum."

Jem shoves herself off the couch, tossing the console down on the cushion, and flounces to the bathroom, her ponytail swinging against her shoulders. Kieren grins contentedly at Simon. It could be awkward, Simon thinks, if Kieren's family wasn't simply built on awkwardness and the strangest cross-generational interactions ever. It's strangely pleasant, and Simon is glad that his natural awkwardness in formal situations fits in here. Kieren takes his hand and leads him into the dining room. Two places are left without plates or silverware, much to their relief.

Dinner this time is a thousand times better than the first. There's no Gary, no arguments, no frightening confessions, no food quietly congealing in front of them. Steve nearly goes off on a spiel about movies, but Jem interrupts him and soon she and Kieren are bantering good-naturedly back and forth, which quickly devolves into the entire family telling slightly embarrassing stories about Kieren's younger years. But Simon likes this. He likes the friendly, welcoming calm of this awkward family. He likes learning about Kieren, about the music he listens to and the things he liked as a youngster and all the things his family knows about him that he wants to know. The banter turns on Jem, though, and soon it's back to Kieren telling abbreviated, ridiculous stories about Jem until they're arguing back and forth with grins on their faces like children.

"And you had stupid cloggy feet!"

Jem holds up a cooked carrot like she's going to throw it, smirking at the fact that Kieren has no ammunition. "Well, you've got a stupid head. Ha!"

"Come on, kids, now stop that," Steve scolds while Sue rolls her eyes. "You're adults, act like it."

"Technically he's just eighteen."

"Dick!" Kieren shakes his finger at her, but he's smiling. He knows they're just playing, knows this is just that slow and steady ease into something like the way it used to be. They smirk at each other from across the table, knowingly, even as Jem pops the last cooked carrot in her mouth triumphantly.

"Let's clean up." Sue reaches across for Jem's plate, stacking it on her own. "It's time for the movies your father's picked out."

"Would you like us to do the dishes while you guys are setting up, Sue?" Simon offers when Jem has disappeared upstairs and Steve has moved away from the table to fiddle with the television.

Sue gives a grateful smile. Kieren feels something inside him lift away at the gentle expression on her face, like somehow her approval is all he needs to know that Simon belongs here. "Thank you, Simon. Kieren can show you, if you like."

"Sure," Kieren nods, and gestures for Simon to follow him back to the kitchen once they've gathered up all the plates. He dumps them next to the sink. "Smart thinking. Now Jem'll have to deal with all the rambling about blu-rays without us."

Simon reaches around Kieren for a plate and turns on the tap. "I actually was offering to be polite. Your parents shouldn't have to work hard on Christmas."

"And _you_ don't have to prove yourself to them," Kieren retorts, reaching out with a dishtowel to dry. "They already like you fine."

"I just don't--"

Kieren crowds into Simon's space, placing a hand against the side of his neck to keep him from turning away. "You saved my life. They love you for that. Nothing's ever gonna change their opinion of you. Me, neither."

Simon sighs, nods reluctantly, picks up another plate. "At least-- at least let me be polite. They're your parents."

"All right."

No one says anything when Kieren and Simon take the smaller sofa together, squashed up next to each other. Kieren's fingers curl around Simon's as the movie starts. There are still moments when Simon feels like he's drowning from guilt, when everything reminds him of Amy, but Kieren's presence breaks through that haze. Simon clings to the feeling. By the end of The Snowman, they're leaning shoulder to shoulder, Simon's face turned slightly into Kieren's hair, but Jem only smirks knowingly at him over her brother's head. Simon is just happy to be able to sit curled close to Kieren; if his heart still worked, every vein would be throbbing, he'd wonder if maybe his chest would explode. As it is, he wonders if maybe Kieren himself can kickstart the decrepit muscle into beating again.

Even more wonderful is watching Kieren laugh at Love, Actually. He's bright, hypnotizing, Simon cannot look away. He's never really seen Kieren laugh before, never been witness to such unguarded smiles. It feels like a gift.

It's nearly midnight when the movie finishes, and Steve stretches his arms above his head. "It's late, all. I think I'm going to head off to bed. Sue?"

"I've got a few more things to wrap up and then I'll join you." She turns to Kieren and Simon on the couch, a soft smile on her face. "Simon, you're welcome to stay the night."

"Oh. Thank you, Sue."

She gives him a quick nod and retreats to the kitchen to clean up whatever's left. Jem smirks at them as she rounds the sofa. "Night, dickhead. Be safe." Kieren ducks his head in embarrassment as she skips snickering up the stairs.

"Sorry about that. It's chronic with her, it is. Come on." For the second time that day, he takes Simon's hand and pulls him up, leading him out of the room and up the stairs.

Kieren feels strangely comfortable bringing Simon into his bedroom. Before, in his first life, no one was really allowed in his room, not even Rick. It was his safe place to hide away from the world, from life, he tried as hard as he could not to let anyone out there see, not to stain it with the finger-streaks and problems of people from out there. But now, he feels like it's right that Simon sit on his bed, wander around his room and look at all his artwork, his paintings. It's right that Simon chuckles at the sketches of Amy, of Jem, that he hums gently, understandingly, at the painting of a caged shadow ringed by fire. It's right that he stops in front of the painting of Rick's face and stares with gentle eyes, head slightly cocked as if trying to decipher something. It's right that he sits down next to him on the bed and takes Kieren's hand.

"You're talented, Kieren. These paintings are amazing, I mean it."

"Er, thanks. They're not that amazing, though."

"Kieren, they are. You're talented, but it's not like your skills are some magical gift. You've obviously worked hard to be able to paint and draw like this. That's incredible."

Kieren scratches the back of his neck, rubbing a finger over the knobbly hole there. Having someone acknowledge his effort when it comes to art is strange and rare. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"Well, I'm saying it to you now. I'm serious, your art is incredible."

Sue's footsteps shuffle up the stairs and into her bedroom. Kieren sighs, rounding the bed to reach inside his closet for his pajamas. "Guess we should get to sleep, too."

Simon feels awkward again. "I, uh, I can sleep on the floor, if you like?"

"That's stupid, Simon," Kieren retorts, voice muffled by the shirt he's pulling on over his head. "You can sleep in my bed with me. It's just my house, not a convent. It's all right for us to sleep in the same bed."

"All right, all right. Uh..." He looks down at himself, at his nice clothes.

"Like I said, modesty's not an issue."

Simon nods, sitting down on the bed to tug off his shoes and unbutton his shirt. He shuffles out of his trousers without standing up. Kieren's already under the covers and he tugs them down a bit for Simon, who slides under. They're pressed together in the bed and Kieren chuckles.

"It's a bit small, I guess. Sorry. Better than the floor, I suppose."

"It's fine, Kieren."

They shift a little until Simon's stretched out on his stomach, head cradled against his arms, and Kieren is lying on his side on Simon's left, one leg tucked under Simon's. Kieren's hand reaches out and softly traces the ragged canyon of black on Simon's back, but he asks no questions. He reaches up and turns off the light, and there is silence for a moment, until Kieren's forehead comes to rest gently against Simon's shoulder and he sighs quietly, fingers tapping restlessly at Simon's lower back.

"I wish she were here."

"I know. So do I."

"I--I hope you're okay with being here for Christmas. I know sometimes they can get a little..."

Simon shakes his head, his chin brushing the top of Kieren's skull in the darkness. He presses his cheek against it. "No, it's nice. Your family, they're good people. I haven't done a holiday in a long time."

"Neither have I. Not since before I died, and even then, I wasn't very good to them. Spent most of my time in the corner, not talking to anyone. Holidays were never very good for me anyway. Too many visits from other people, and they'd just criticize me or stare at me or you know. Just wasn't nice. Spent a lot of time here in me room. But that last one....I was an asshole. Jem kept trying to get me to do things and I wouldn't even move. I think she opened a lot of my presents for me because I just didn't want to get off the couch or do anything. I don't even remember eating dinner. I think I just hid up here most of the day."

"You were depressed, you were grieving. It's understandable."

"I was a dick."

"I was too, back when I was still living at home. There was a lot of shouting during the holidays. Usually it was at me. Usually I was drunk or high or both at the same time. I wasn't a very good person, before."

"This was a good holiday. I'm glad you came."

Simon smiles into the darkness. His first good holiday in too many years to count. Maybe his first ever. "I am, too."

"Amy would've loved it."

Yeah." Amy would've loved it. Amy would've been so happy, hugging all of them, gushing about decorations, making Kieren's family laugh. Amy would've been goading Jem for embarrassing stories about Kieren and embarrassing Steve with her bluntness. Simon would've seen Kieren grinning the whole day; Simon would have gotten to sit back and watch them both be happy. Simon would have been able to have a holiday without any guilt. Simon would have been able to look at the lights on the tree without thinking of the shine of Amy's existence and how quickly it had gone out and how it was his fault. Simon would have been able to have the two people he loved most in the world beside him. Amy would have loved it. Simon would have loved her to be here.

 

The only warning they get in the morning is a rapid knock and Jem's teasing voice calling out "You better be decent!" before she flings the door open and smacks at their feet.

"Wake up, assholes. It's like eleven in the morning."

Simon buries his face further in the back of Kieren's neck with a groan. "Is she always like this?"

Kieren throws his sister a half-hearted glare with the half of his face not smushed into the pillow, earning a self-satisfied grin and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows in response. He rolls his eyes. "Um, yep."

"I know you two don't eat, but it's breakfast and it's Christmas, so come on." She grins conspiratorially at Kieren before flouncing out the door. Simon grunts again and snakes his arm further around Kieren's middle, pulling him closer. Kieren takes a moment to relish in the gentle softness that is sleepy Simon, wishing not for the first time that they had more sensation ability. He'd like to feel the warmth and weight of his body, even just once.

"We really should go down, you know." Simon groans again in response. Not a morning person. Kieren sits up against the headboard and combs his fingers through Simon's hair as the Irishman hides his face in the pillow. "Medicine first, then we'll go down. Where's your kit?"

"Coat pocket. It's so early."

"It really isn't. Jem's right, it's like eleven in the morning. Come on, Simon. Take your medication and you'll feel more awake."

A fumbling around in the coat, gentle pressure of the med gun against the back of Simon's neck, the pneumatic hiss, Simon's grunt as the medicine hits him. Quickly, he's sitting up, alert. Kieren sits beside him and he tugs down the back of his jumper to administer the medication.

"Sorry," he apologizes gently to the back of Kieren's neck. "That was the most I've slept in a long time. I didn't want to get up."

"You don't need to apologize. It's all right." He turns with a smile and takes the med gun from Simon's hand, their fingers brushing softly. "Clothes then breakfast, come on."

"How'd you two sleep?" Sue asks as Simon and Kieren take their places at the table. The spaces in front of them are empty, and Simon smiles at that. Kieren's talked to his mother properly, it seems. Not even fake places, last night or today.

"Pretty good, I reckon," Jem smirks at them. Kieren kicks her under the table.

"Piss off and eat your eggs."

"I bought Christmas crackers, you guys." Sue retrieves bundle of crackers from the coffee table. "Jem?"

They each take an end and pull. Jem gets a purple crown and a little mini chess set. Kieren and Simon pull theirs; Simon wins and puts his blue paper crown on his head with a put-on sigh and a small smile.

The Christmas tree in the living room is small, its branches covered in a variety of store-bought and homemade ornaments, tinsel sliding off the ends of the boughs. It reminds Kieren of all the mornings of the past, Jem still in her pajamas as she passes presents around. He remembers the heaviness that sat on his chest every year even as he watched his family smiling, that feeling that none of them knew his world was always dimmed compared to theirs. Even with the grief of Amy's death sitting on their shoulders, he still feels lighter than ever before.

They cluster together on the couches to open presents. Kieren gives Jem a couple of zombie-less video games for her collection. From her, he gets a set of charcoal pencils, "to replace the ones that you're starting to wear out now that you're finally drawing again." They give Sue a hand-painted mug and a tin of expensive tea, respectively. Jem gives Steve a pair of jeans as a joke, but then reveals her real present: a gift card for more DVDs. Sue reaches round the back of the tree and, pulling out another present, turns to Simon.

"We weren't quite sure what to get you, but Kieren said you liked poetry, so..."

Simon unwraps a crisp new anthology of Seamus Heaney's poetry and runs his hands over the cover, looking at the family with a perplexed expression. He shifts in his seat, gaze uncertain of where to land, who to look at. "Thank you. I... I don't-- I didn't think I'd be coming here. I don't have any gifts for you--"

"It's all right, love." Sue smiles at him gently, a genuine affection in her expression, and Simon feels a jolt of warmth down his spine. No one's mum has looked at him with an expression that trusting and loving in a long time; it makes him ache. "You're part of the family now, that means you get something from us."

"Thank you." Simon means it. For a moment, he has the urge to go to Sue and hug her, but then Kieren shifts beside him.

"I have a present for you, too." Simon is careful in peeling the wrapping off the slim package, fingertips sliding delicately under each corner. It feels important. Kieren's face can't seem to decide what to do with itself as the paper slides away. His head tilts to the side and he looks down at the clear plastic case in Simon's hand. "It's a mix CD."

Jem makes a small, strained noise at the back of her throat. When Simon looks up, she's looking at Kieren with an expression that seems to be fighting between pitying and joyful. He's not sure why, but this is something momentous in the eyes of the Walker siblings, and suddenly he's afraid to fuck this up. But he's never been given a mix CD before, and strangely he feels like he's learning more about the man in front of him than ever, like this collection of music will tell him about who Kieren is, or was, or what he thinks of him. He smiles at Kieren. "Thank you."

The unabashed sincerity on Simon's face is enough that, had he retained working tear ducts, Kieren would be tearing up. He can see the CD case cradled in Simon's hands out of the corner of his eye. But Simon is looking at him like this gift is the world, like Kieren has just given him the light of the sun or the holy grail. He'd been ready for Simon to shrug it off, to call him old-fashioned, anything but the absolute tenderness he seems to be readily giving to Kieren and his family. He stares at Simon, letting himself hope this time will turn out better _. It's already better than a secret cave in the candlelight_ , a part of him whispers, _already better than having to hide_.

Steve clears his throat. "Maybe we should put some more Christmas music on, bring this place back to life."

Sue sighs as Kieren and Jem simultaneously give their father the teenage look of deadpan exasperation. Simon, though, just has to laugh drily at the tasteless comment. He's surprised to hear something like that out of bland-mannered Steve Walker, but now he's starting to realize just why and how Kieren's knack for sarcasm is so incredibly strong. It's almost irresistible in presence of someone like Steve Walker.

The stack of board games catches Sue's eye, and soon they're all roped into playing different games. Simon quickly finds himself enjoying the domestic scene as Jem destroys them all in Cluedo. Simon gets her back by taking the entire Walker family by storm in Trivial Pursuit. Kieren thrashes them all in LIFE and Sue laughs.

"He always wins at that one. Every time."

"Just good at life, then, eh?" Steve jokes. Jem rolls her eyes massively behind him, but Kieren just shrugs.

"Guess I am now."

The games over with, Jem disappears up to her room and Steve takes an emergency call from the train station with a tired eye roll and a muttered "every single year, Sue, every year." Simon follows Kieren back up to his room, trailing his fingers along the banister. He hands Kieren the mix CD when the door shuts.

"I want to hear it. Is it all right if we listen to it now?"

"Yeah, of course." Kieren takes it from him and turns to fiddle with the stereo near his bed.

Simon had reacted to the mix CD with sincere gratitude and love; Kieren hadn't known whether to grin from ear to ear or hide his face from the affection he's only just learning he deserves. Before, he was amazed Simon was still here, after he seemed so eager to leave at Amy's funeral. But this is the man that changed his life, that saved his life, that showed him he deserved to be loved until he started to believe it himself and now he's truly glad Simon's kept his promise to stay put. Even Simon's moments of uncertainty or awkwardness remind him that Simon _does_ want to be here, that he hasn't run away. There was a look in his eyes when he'd saying he was staying put, like he'll stand by Kieren through anything, like he'll turn his back on his fears, use Kieren to forget his hurting memories and make something better. Like he'd rather be here than anywhere else. It makes Kieren itch to love him even more, faster, the way he deserves.

Because he can't remember ever having a Christmas with Rick, not a proper one. Some years they'd sneak away in the night after everyone was in bed, exchange little hand-made presents in the middle of a field or a grove of trees or the first empty street they could find. They'd have awkward, stilted wishes of a happy Christmas and promises they wished they could keep of a better new year. Kieren would give Rick a kiss on the cheek sometimes, but even that...

It's unfair to compare Rick and Simon. They're different people. Kieren loved Rick blindly, loved him because he hadn't know anything else, because there hadn't been anyone else, because Rick was everything. He'd loved Rick with his body and soul, a crashing feeling like every emotion would crush him when he even thought Rick's name. He's coming to love Simon gradually, something that pools deep in his bones, soaking its way up through his body gradually. He knows he doesn't love Simon as much as Simon loves him, not yet. But he's been on that end, and this time, this time he knows he'll get there soon and he'll say so once he does. He's not going to let Simon cling to an oasis without knowing if it's a mirage or not.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" Kieren whips around to find Simon holding the crumpled portrait of himself, staring down at the sketch with a confused intensity. "Oh. No, Gary did that. Before he gave me the Blue Oblivion. He was looking for you. Thought maybe I'd have answers, so he tied me up and decided to start knocking things around in order to get me to tell him. I said I didn't know but, y'know, he wasn't about to believe me."

Simon's still looking at the picture, head tilted in a curious way. "It's good. I look...clear."

The lines are sketchy and fast, but Simon sees an image of himself unburdened, gaze alert and open. There is no ache in the line of his shoulders, no heavy-lidded memories that make him unable to look at anyone straight on. Is this how Kieren sees him? This serious, shadow-shaded face that still holds the hint of a smile and a piercing, mile-long gaze full of a clarity he's not sure he's felt in years. This portrait isn't like the others pinned to the board above Kieren's desk. Those portraits dance and move, as alive and active as their subjects are or once were. This one is a snapshot, a moment forever frozen in time, a stare forever boring, beckoning, asking, answering. Simon's not sure what he's supposed to be doing. He's not sure if he can do any of those. This is the face of someone who has seen and knows everything, and yet is always empty and learning. This is the face of the clean, the dedicated, the gracious, the redemptive. This is a face of a naive sage. This is the face of something that stares you down and _knows_ you, and yet still loves you. Kieren sees him like _this_?

"That one's just a rough sketch. I was going to redo it--"

"Don't." Kieren looks at him, surprised. "This one's perfect the way it is."

"But it's not even finished, really."

"It's how you see me, isn't it?" Simon breathes in, out, waiting.

Kieren moves to look over Simon's shoulder at the sketch, then nods. "Yeah, it is, I guess."

"Don't change it. I like this, the way you see me." A feeling of protection has welled up in Simon's chest over the drawing. He's been called so many things by other people, labeled poet and addict and test subject and disciple and good son, bad son, no son of mine, Irish rotter, something else. He's never been able to see the way a person looked at all of him before. He squelches the urge to clutch the sketch to his chest. "You can draw me again, just don't change this one."

"Alright."

Simon smooths out the wrinkles in the paper and places it gingerly on Kieren's desk. His gaze moves from the sketch of his own face to the lively drawings of Amy and Jem that are tacked to the bulletin board above the desk. He stares at them as the songs of the mix tape wash over him, wondering what he'll look like as living movement on the page made dynamic by Kieren's hand.

Dinner holds more conversation about what Simon and the Walker siblings plan to do now. Jem shrugs and says she wants to finish school first before she decides anything, but media studies has sounded good to her for a while now.

"Like production design?" Simon asks.

"Yeah, the behind-the-scenes stuff. Scripts and sets and animation, that sort of thing. Not so much animation, though. I can't draw like Kier can. But I like telly and video games and stuff, so I just thought it might be cool."

"And Kieren? Any ideas?"

"If Pearl will give me my job back, maybe I'll start with that. Or I'll have to look for something else. I don't know. I guess we'll see. I'm not really sure right now."

Simon looks around the table. The three of them, living in limbo. Everything is uncertain for them: the future, the damage, who to trust and who to avoid, what will come next, who will reach out to or destroy them today. "I think the future is a bit of a mystery to all of us right now," he adds. "Might be best for us all to plan as we go, eh?"

Sue nods and changes the subject. Soon, Sue and Kieren are discussing the possibility that Freddie Preston might be coming back home now that Victus and the HVF aren't so strong anymore while Jem and Steve on the other half of the table argue over the production quality of various movies. Simon is content to watch, feeling his affection for this family grow as he watches its members interact with natural comfort and safety, and he realizes that for once, he feels comfortable and accepted in a family household despite his status as an outsider.

After dinner, Jem excuses herself back upstairs to her cave to try out her new video games. She thanks Kieren again with a pat on his shoulder as she passes, and he swats at her playfully.

"And you two?" Steve asks as the rest of them stand to clear their plates away.

"We're going to go visit Amy, I think." Kieren answers as his father heads into the kitchen.

"Oh, Kieren, that reminds me." Sue beckons Kieren to follow her. Her face is full of sympathy and she shoots Simon a small, sad smile of understanding.

Simon drifts into the living room while Kieren talks to his parents. There are a few minimalist-style shelves cluttered with nick knacks. Simon examines the green glass baubles and delicate vases that have childhood art projects interspersed between them. A shining silver picture from catches his eye and he peers at it, face twisting into a mask of grief when he realizes who the subject is.

Amy's silly grin stares out at him from the photograph, her joy and exuberance frozen in time, frozen in this gaze, her face pressed up to the camera in delight. She can't feel delight anymore, can't smile or laugh, can't hug them all, can't see or hear or feel the way they all love her. The pain of her memory, the guilt that is wrapped around it like barbed wire, pierces him so that every thought is followed by flinching, turning away from unavoidable ache. He's been trying to hide from it since he stepped inside the Walker house the night before, trying to pretend she's just with Philip for the holiday, or somewhere else, just outside the door, just outside the town, just outside his thoughts. Simon wants to reach out with one finger and tip the picture over so he doesn't have to look at it anymore, doesn't have to think about it. When he was alive, now is when he'd run away, disappear, look for anything and everything to push into his veins and make it all fade away. Instead, they're going straight to the source of that hurt. Simon moves away towards the stairs.

Sue presses a little wreath and a candle in Kieren's hands. Her smile is warm and sad. "For Amy."

Kieren feels his face twitch, glances down at the gifts in his palms. He's been pushing the grief of Amy's death away all day, but this only reminds him more strongly that it feels like there's a piece of him missing, like a phantom limb that's given him a permanent limp. In his mind's eye he can see Amy and Sue decorating for the holidays together, baking together, Sue telling terribly embarrassing stories about Kieren's childhood. He's not uncertain that she's thinking the same thing. "Thanks Mum. She'll-- she'll love these."

Simon watches him with his eyes from his place by the stairs. He still feels awkward in the Walker family home when nothing is going on, despite the warmth with which they've received him the past two days. "Kieren?"

"Come on Simon." He hands Simon the giant green parka that's draped over the couch. "Bye, Mum!"

"See you, dear."

"'Night, Kier!" Jem calls down the stairs. The tone holds some half an innuendo that Kieren chooses to ignore as he tugs open the door, letting the wind whip through the passageway and into the house. They step out into the dimming evening, too cold for the living to willingly venture into. Simon's hand finds Kieren's after a moment, and they walk in silence.

Amy's grave is too dark and sullen for the life it covers, the dates too short even if there are two of them, the ground still bare with damp clotted dirt, the headstone a dull grey when it should be white. As they approach the spot, the sky above is coloured like a bruise, and spits indecisive droplets of near-slush rain down on the gravestones below. Kieren stoops to place a wreath and a candle on the ground, leaning the little circlet against the word 'light'.

"Hi, Amy."

They press against each other, not for warmth they can't feel or touch that's barely there. They're holding each other up, neither able to stand as straight or tall as they used to. Silence. They don't know what to say. How do you talk to a stone that now takes the space of something once so vibrant and alive? Simon wishes the wind were louder, brighter, more like Amy's voice. Amy Dyer did not whisper.

They've come to see Amy, but it doesn't feel right. There's no swishing of skirts or joyful laugh, no optimistic flailing or hugs. There's just a mound of soft dirt and a cold headstone. Kieren sighs heavily, twists his lips to one side. Simon's fingers twitch at his sides, dancing nervously over thoughts and feelings left unsaid. It's hard. It's so fucking hard. They know they both want to turn and run away. They're both staying so the other one stays.

It starts to snow properly as Kieren lowers himself to the ground, looping his arms over his knees, picking nervously at his cuticles. He never got to spend a holiday with Amy, never got to see her full of excitement over presents or decorations, never got to hear her natter on joyfully about how cute it is to see everyone decorating their houses or wearing holiday-themed clothes.

It's strange, missing Amy. It's nothing like the gaping, ragged hole that Rick left when he died. When Rick was gone, he knew it and couldn't think of anything else but the sucking emptiness. This time he keeps expecting Amy to coming skipping round the corner in her petticoats, scolding them both for not waiting up. He knocks on the door of the bungalow expecting an excited hug from his friend, and instead is met with Simon's pale face-- just as welcomed and welcoming, but it's not what he's missing right now. Amy is more like a shadow, something he swears he keeps seeing out of the corner of his eye. It feels like she can't be gone, like he just saw her last week, like she's going to pop up one morning and yell "Surprise!" and crush them both in a strangling hug.

Simon watches Kieren sit down, his hands curled into tight fists and tucked up in the pockets of his parka against the urge to touch. Kieren is innocent in all this, just another victim of grief. Simon doesn't deserve to be standing here at Amy's grave, lighting a candle and whispering to the granite too silent and still to represent the shining Amy Dyer. She deserves sun, not snow; a fantastic blue sky day, not this greyish nighttime winter. She doesn't deserve this, him, death. He shuffles his feet anxiously, glances down at Kieren's bowed head. He wishes he could feel that pure grief, that loss of someone so dear, without the crushing weight of guilt overshadowing it all. He wishes he didn't feel Amy's name rattling around in the hollow space of his ribcage. He wishes he could at least cry.

"Sit with me," Kieren pats the ground beside him. "Come on."

Simon mimics Kieren's position, tugging a clod of dirt from the ground beneath him and crumbling it between his fingers. They're silent as Simon deconstructs the earth, and Kieren taps his fingers against his mouth. He breathes in, out, in.

"I miss her."

Simon's fingers go limp, releasing the broken bits of soil. "Me too."

Kieren shifts, hands crossing to close over his wrists delicately. He knows the ridges of stitching under his palms, knows that cutting loss. "It's different, this time. Missing someone."

"It's always different."

"It doesn't hurt as much."

 _It hurts more_ , Simon thinks. Instead, he gives a tired half-smile, fingers trailing in the mud on either side of him. "I think that's good." Then, "I wish I could have stopped it."

"Simon, you couldn't have done anything. She was on the other side of town. Whatever you might've tried, it wouldn't have made a difference."

"She didn't deserve it." He grips the soil beneath his hands, hangs his head as if confessing his sins. "I would let them do anything to me if it meant getting her back."

"They've done enough to you already." Kieren doesn't care which 'they' they're talking about. At this point he wants to shield Simon from everything his past has ever thrown at him, all the things his mind comes up with. " _You_ don't deserve that. She wouldn't want you to do that."

"I still would."

"Don't. For her. For me. For yourself." Kieren kneels in front of him and takes Simon's hands, uncurls his fists from the dirt and presses their palms together. "It was never your fault. It never will be. Maxine Martin killed her and you wouldn't have been able to stop it, even if you'd known. And you and I both know Amy would have made her way back here eventually, even without you coming with her, so don't tell me that's your fault too, okay? You can be sad that she's gone, but please don't feel guilty, because none of this was your fault."

"I can try."

"That's good enough for me, Simon. That's good enough."

Simon falls limp, body tilting forward until his forehead is pressed against Kieren's shoulder, voice half muffled by Kieren's chest. "I'm sorry."

Kieren cups a hand around the back of Simon's neck, nose against his hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Simon's voice sounds like he would be sobbing if he could. "I miss her. She deserved better."

"I know." Kieren wraps his arms around Simon's body and leans himself back until he's propped up against Amy's headstone and Simon is a curled half-kneeling ball between his outstretched legs. "Simon, I blamed myself for Rick's death and it destroyed me. It wasn't my fault; I couldn't ever have stopped it. Please don't destroy yourself over Amy. Please."

Simon nods against Kieren's collarbone and reaches around him to press his palms against the cool stone of Amy's grave. They stay like that, motionless, until snow has piled up on Simon's back and Kieren brings his hands up to push him back and look into his face. Simon looks up, gaze unfocused, unable to bring himself to look at Kieren directly.

"It'll get better, Simon, I promise." Kieren tells him. "Let's go home."

He pulls Simon up and stands beside him, staring down at Amy's grave. The candle's flame dances and winks in the snow, and for a moment Simon can pretend it's Amy's soul waving to them. As if she's not been taken from them, as if she's not gone, not really. _And death shall have no..._ Then Kieren steps forward and presses his hand to the top of the gravestone.

"We love you, Amy. Happy Christmas."

They walk back to the bungalow hand in hand, Simon's footsteps still leaden with his thoughts, but Kieren is there every time he starts to list to the side. Simon folds himself onto the couch when they get inside, not even waiting for Kieren to turn on the light.

"You got a Christmas tree," Kieren notices. It's small and plastic and the decorations were obviously rooted out of Amy's gran's closet, but it's there.

"Thought she'd like it if I did." Simon shrugs, moving his feet out of the way as Kieren joins him on the couch, holding out his arms for him to fall into. "It's no consolation, but I thought it was something."

"She would love it, Simon. She really would."

They lapse into silence, gazes drawn to the tiny tree. Simon clutches at Kieren's hand and stares at the little lights on it, like stars or constellations, and if he still believed in a heaven he'd be convinced she was up there somewhere, dancing with Orion and making constellations laugh, stars at elbow and foot. Though we be mad and dead as nails... Maybe Dylan Thomas was right. He lets out a long, heavy breath he thinks maybe he's been holding since the day Amy died.

"I think I'll be okay."

Kieren smiles at him, bright and tender. "I think I will be, too."


End file.
